


we play the moment on repeat

by bruce_the_shark



Series: maybe you don't have to rush [2]
Category: Band of Brothers, Band of Brothers RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluffy Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Moving In Together, back at it again in the toothbrush verse, it's offscreen, sorry renee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 00:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13399248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruce_the_shark/pseuds/bruce_the_shark
Summary: It’s a testament of his love for Eugene Roe that he calls him first rather than 911.“Gene, oh my god, I set a fryin' pan on fire and I fuckin' nuked the fish what do I do?!” He blurts as soon as Gene picks up, doesn’t even wait for a hello.It’s also a testament of Eugene Roe’s love for Babe Heffron that he doesn’t panic, doesn’t ask for a why or how, just sighs deeply.





	we play the moment on repeat

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hello, welcome! Another installment in the toothbrush verse; doesn't have to be read in conjunction with the first one.

Babe’s not sure if the fish is overcooked or under cooked, eyes the sizzling lumps of meat in the pan skeptically. He figures the same general rule applies that chicken tends to go by; if it’s white it’s alright, fleshy and pink nuke that meat. He’s still wary though, about the fish, about cooking, about everything else he has planned out for the evening.

He bites his lip and glances at the clock, bites his lip even more as it _ticks, ticks, ticks_  closer towards seven and Gene’s arrival. The spatula's slippery in his grip and he’s not sure if it’s from the steaming of his half-assed attempt at some southern fish dish or if it’s because he’s nervous.

It’s because he’s nervous, who the fuck is he kidding?

He sets the spatula aside, lets the chunks of tilapia bubble in their own juices and oils, wipes his hands on his shorts and laughs almost hysterically to himself as his phone vibrates on the counter. He twists to grab for it, almost drops it in the process, thumbs at the screen to make sure it isn’t Gene saying he’s early. Deflates when he sees it’s only Bill’s shitty brand of reassurance.

**From: Gonorrhea**  
**To: You**  
_youre doin that weird laughin shit aint ya. quit it it’s makin me uncomfortable all the way across town_

**From: You**  
**To: Gonorrhea**  
_I CANT IM NERVOUS WHAT IF I FUCK THIS UP_

**From: Gonorrhea**  
**To: You**  
_I see the dilemma youre you_

“You fucker…” Babe mumbles heatedly, forgets about the open flame and hot pan of frying fish behind him until it snaps, crackles, pops loudly, makes him jump around to find a small flame waving at him merrily as it grows larger and larger.

“Shit, shit, _shit!_ ” He hisses, drops his phone as he grabs at the spatula with one hand and the handle of the pan with the other, the flame only growing larger the more he blows on it. “Burnin' bush, burnin' bush, burnin' bush…” He chants, abandons pan and utensil where they are as he feels the fine hairs on his arm begin to singe, manages to get the stove turned off.

He’s down on his hands and knees searching for his phone, cursing under his breath as the pan begins to smoke above him, the wispy tendrils not yet reaching the smoke alarm as he spots a metallic edge poking out from underneath the fridge, jams his finger grabbing for it.

It’s a testament of his love for Eugene Roe that he calls him first rather than 911.

“Gene, _oh my god_ , I set a fryin' pan on fire and I fuckin' nuked the fish what do I do?!” He blurts as soon as Gene picks up, doesn’t even wait for a _hello_.

It’s also a testament of Eugene Roe’s love for Babe Heffron that he doesn’t panic, doesn’t ask for a _why_ or _how_ , just sighs deeply.

“Did ya turn the stove off?”

“Yeah, yeah, stove’s off.” Babe glances over, just to make sure.

“If it’s still burnin' cover it with a lid if you can—”

“Lid, lid…” Babe mumbles, scrambles to his feet and bangs open cabinet doors with one hand and holds his life line with the other as the fire steadily burns away. “Got one!” He yells triumphantly, turns around and abruptly steps back as one of the fillets becomes fully engulfed.

“Aw hell, Gene, the damn fish itself is on fire now!”

“Do  _not_  put any water on it, Babe, ya hear me? I’m almost there, try to get the lid on it if ya can.” And Gene hangs up and Babe once again tosses his phone at the mercy of the universe and takes a hesitant step towards the stove, arm outstretched, lid wobbling in his grip.

“Fuckin' hell it’s a goddamn burnin' bush if there ever was one…” He mutters, thinks back to Bill’s text, starts to laugh hysterically as the smoke alarm finally sounds and he jumps, lid almost knocking at the pan handle as his buzzer sounds in the background.

He gives up trying to put a lid on it, instead pulls a one eighty and mainlines for the door, clips the sofa corner on the way and bangs the pot lid against his face in his struggle to grasp the knob. Gene’s face is the epitome of unimpressed as he shoulders past Babe, pulls the pin from the fire extinguisher that looks an awful lot like the one from down the hall, hefts it in his hands. Babe meekly shuts the door after checking to make sure the building’s main fire alarms aren’t going off, that it’s just his own personal backup one installed for _oh, shit_ moments such as these, and shyly makes his way back into the kitchen.

His stove top is a mess of white foam as Gene places the extinguisher in the sink, small globs of chemical still burping out of the black rubber hose. They both just stop and stare at each other, Babe ten shades of red and gnawing at his lip, Gene shaking his head in exasperation, a smile in his eyes and one tucked away in the quirked corner of his lips.

“Edward Heffron.” He states in his deep sprawling drawl. “What am I goin' to do with ya?” He questions, finally breaks into a smile so fond Babe thinks his heart is going to beat itself to death. Babe kind of can't stand it sometimes.

“Jesus, Gene, I’m sorry.” He manages to huff out, runs a frustrated hand through his hair as he takes in his ruined dinner plans. “I was tryin' to cook for ya, something nice since ya’ve been gone and…” He trails off, doesn’t want to think about the fact that Gene’s just going to leave as quickly as he came.

A steady hand grasps at his bicep, turns him away from the faux winter wonderland that is now a good chunk of his kitchen.

“It’s okay, Babe, we can clean it up real good. We’ll get it picked up.” Gene smiles again, but Babe just stares at him, takes in the inky black mess of his hair and the perpetually tired parenthesis around his mouth and the little pockets of lavender bruised skin underneath his eyes that shows he hasn’t been sleeping as well as he says he’s been. Babe sighs, looks away, finally drops his pan lid down on the table with a dull thump as he feels Gene’s hand slide down his arm, his chilled fingers tangling with Babe’s own. “Where’s your mop and stuff? Ya got one, yeah?” Gene tries, but it’s no use.

The bush has burned, the universe has spoken, he’s not so sure about this crazy idea of his anymore.

“Gene, no, stop, I’m not makin' ya clean this up,” Babe sighs, tugs their hands apart to sink into a kitchen chair, “I’m not lettin' you help, either, Jesus. My ma taught me better than that.” He says, stops Gene from even opening his mouth. “I fucked it all up, _Christ_ , Bill was right…I’m me, of course I did.” He mumbles to himself, rubs harshly at his face. He's not prepared for the sudden kick to a chair leg, squawks as he's jolted backwards as Gene slides into the open V of his legs. A firm hand grips his chin.

“Edward Heffron I don’t ever wanna hear you talkin' like that again, ya understand?” Gene’s words are firm but his eyes are soft, always two opposites at once. He swallows thickly. 

“Yeah, Gene, I hear ya.” Babe sighs, holds Gene’s gaze until the other man finds what he’s looking for and lets go of his chin, trails his fingers up to tangle in his ginger strands of hair instead.

“Good.” Gene states. “Now ya mind tellin' me what the hell happened here?” He asks, side eyes the melting foam and slightly scorched patch of ceiling. Babe gives a chuckle, smiles sheepishly.

“Like I said, I was tryin' to cook ya a nice dinner since you’ve been gone and it just…I can’t cook.”

“No shit.” Gene huffs, tugs at the tufts between his fingers. “I coulda told ya that. What I’m wonderin' is why fish? And is that…?” He gives an experimental sniff at the air, screws his face up at what he gets.

“Yeah,” Babe grimaces, “I tried to Frankenstein some kind of rub togetha, mostly Old Bay and this stuff the lady at the fish market gave me in these little plastic baggies…felt like a drug dealer walkin' around with 'em in my pockets.” He shakes his head.

Gene snorts lightly above him. “Hey…look at me, yeah?” He asks softly, waits until he has Babe’s full undivided attention. “You don’t ever have to go through all this for me, alright? Just knowin' you’re here waitin' for me, wantin' me to be around, that’s enough, okay?” He promises, pauses, licks his lips. “I’ll take whatever you feel like givin' me until you don’t anymore. It’s cool.” He says in a voice so small a little piece of Babe’s heart breaks at the mere thought of him never wanting Gene. He tries to think of a universe where that's even possible, comes up blank. 

“But I do!” He blurts, reaches up to grasp at Gene’s hand so as to cradle it with both of his own. “I wanna give you everythin', ya know, I wish you’d stop bookin' hotels across town thinkin' I don’t want you here or that you’d be an inconvenience or that your rotatin' internship thing or whatever the hell you call it is some kind of deal breaker. Because it’s not.” Babe gushes. “It’s important to you so it’s important to me too…and I’d never use that against you.” He finishes quietly, places a light kiss on the knuckles in front of him, feels his ears burning pink. 

“Babe…” Gene clears his throat, crouches down in front of him with popping knees, his free hand landing on one of Babe’s knobby knees for balance, “we’ve only been together for a little over a year and I love ya, ya know I do.”

“I love you, too.” Babe responds quietly, feels like a little kid admitting a school yard crush all over again.

Gene quirks his lips, stacks his free hand on top of the tangled mess of their fingers, considers him for a long minute. “Right now…” He starts, “it’s a lot, okay? You’re killin' yourself with three jobs and school and tryin' to pay for this apartment all by yourself…my internship’s gonna last the next year, year and half. The pay's shit...I could get offered a job anywhere after that…” He trails off, bites at his lip with an apology in his eyes.

Another little piece of Babe’s heart breaks.

“Why ya tryin' to put an expiration date on us, Gene?” He hears himself whisper, feels the sting of the words in the flinch that runs through the other man’s hands.

“I’m not.” Gene says heavily, voice lower than normal and oddly thick. “I’m just tryin' to make this easier for the both of us in the long run, yeah?”

Babe doesn’t believe a word of it and from the look on Gene’s face he doesn’t either, but Babe knows from life in the neighborhood that you let sleeping dogs lie, that you pick your battles until a better day. He attempts a smile, knows it doesn’t quite reach his eyes if the pained look on Gene’s face is anything to go by, untangles their hands and stands, pulls Gene up with him.

“C’mon,” He nudges him towards the living room, “let’s get some noms, figure this mess out later.” He waves blindly in the direction of the kitchen even though they both know that’s not the mess he’s talking about.

+++

Gene’s able to stay for a full week this time and Babe proudly shows him off to all their friends at every bar they manage to take over. Later, when they’re both tipsy from the easy company and even easier drinks, Babe lets Gene take him back to his stuffy little hotel room that’s clearly seen better days. Together they tangle up the sheets and add to the collection of marks on the wall where the faux wrought iron metal of the headboard taps against it in the soft early morning glow of dawn, the two of them whispering gentle words into each other’s skin, the universe shrunk down to just the two of them.

Gene kisses him once on each cheek at the airport when it’s time for him to leave again, then once more on the forehead with a mumbled line of French. Babe watches him go, Bill standing behind with car keys dangling from his fingers, shaking his head as Babe waves lamely at Gene’s leaving form.  

Babe sways with the weight of Bill’s arm as it’s lassoed around his shoulders and he’s side hugged into a slightly shorter body.

“Give him time, Babe.” Bill tries. “Six weeks goes by fast, you’ll both be fine.”

“It always goes by fast." Babe's said it so many times he wonders when he'll start believing it. "I just...I don’t know, Bill.” He sighs, eyes still fixed on the gate Gene’s already disappeared through. “You said it yourself, I’m me. That fucking tilapia was a sign.” Babe shrugs off his arm, leaves him standing there to retreat back towards the main entrance of the airport. Bill watches him go, actually feels something almost like an ending looming above him as he takes in the dejected slump of his friend, tries to think of something to say, to do, suddenly finds himself useless for once.

+++

Six weeks later marks Babe sitting on his couch, stray Cocoa Puffs falling occasionally from his bowl as he stirs them up, the TV on in front of him even though he’s not really watching it. He’s more worried about passing out, falling straight over, spilling muddy brown milk across his lap and carpet from the sleep deprivation of final exam week. He’s two down, two to go and all week he’s been waking up in random places in his apartment – the floor, underneath the kitchen table, halfway in the closet, twice in the bathtub.

Things are missing too and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s not putting stuff back where it goes or if he’s selling it on Craigslist while half asleep thinking he’s actually creating catalog entries and that’s why there’s sometimes random money on his kitchen counter.

If it’s the latter he’s not entirely sure who’d buy his toothbrush or tacky novelty magnets from the fridge given to him by the guys. He’s not sure why he’d try to sell any of that in the first place.

His phone vibrates on his knee as he’s lifting a dripping spoonful of soggy puffs, the screen flashing briefly with a picture of Gene’s pale face. He stuffs his mouth and lowers his bowl, swipes open the text message.

**From: DOCTOR LOVE (Eugene Roe)**  
**To: You**  
_I’m back and want to show you something. Really hope you’re not busy. Or in the tub again._

Babe frowns at the message, frowns even more when his phone vibrates again and a new bubble pops up underneath what Gene’s already sent. He’s confused as he reads an address, leans forward to put his bowl on what passes for a coffee table.

**From: You**  
**To: DOCTOR LOVE (Eugene Roe)**  
_yeah Im not busy whats goin on youre back three days early are you okay????_

**From: DOCTOR LOVE (Eugene Roe)**  
**To: You**  
_Everything’s fine, I promise. I’m waiting here for you._

And that’s really all the incentive Babe needs to click off the TV, jam his feet into his Crocs, and grab his wallet and keys in order to thump down the stairs, to wave at Mrs. Boutabi as she’s coming in. He hooks a left outside and heads down the street to hang another left, goes four blocks over to the address Gene sent him. He’s still confused when he gets there because it’s the storefront of Old Ferrando’s Bakery, dutifully closed as always on Sundays like most of the other family owned businesses along the street.

He takes out his phone, gives a cursory look at the empty street around him, feels confused all over again.

**From: You**  
**To: DOCTOR LOVE (Eugene Roe)**  
_gene wat da hell da bakerys closed where are you??????_

**From: DOCTOR LOVE (Eugene Roe)**  
**To: You**  
_Upstairs. Down the alley to your left, the door with the red gating._

Babe peeks around the corner and down the narrow walkway, sees an odd little patch of green, shuffles towards it. He emerges in a little courtyard connecting the back of Ferrando’s with a few other back entrances, marvels at the amount of potted plants crammed into the otherwise industrial space. The red gated door is easy to find, right next to the cheery yellow of the bakery’s, and it's easy to tug open, to slip inside.

There's a narrow and rickety stairway that takes him up to a tiny landing outside another door, this one unlatched. He toes it open, sticks his head in.

“Gene?” He hollers, listens for a response that never comes. He shuffles further inside, finds himself in a nice little foyer area with what looks like a kitchen through a doorway on his left and an open space directly in front of him with tall windows and another tiny doorway leading somewhere else. He marvels at it all for a few seconds, hears a scuffling sound on his right and peeks around that doorway, finds another little staircase that goes up and twists out of view. He has to duck his head to fit under it, but he climbs the handful of steps with his arms tucked close to his body and emerges in another room through an already opened door, takes in peach colored walls and tiny nebulas of dust glittering in patches of sunlight that hit the floor.

“In here.” Gene calls from his left and Babe finds him in a tiny bathroom smaller than his own but still managing to fit a tub. The man himself is sitting on the edge of it, a nervous expression on his face and his hands wrung white.

“Gene.” Babe starts, stops. “What the hell?” He asks, looks around, freezes when his eyes spot the cup sitting on the counter by the sink. He takes a step closer, reaches out to poke at his own toothbrush sitting pretty right next to Gene’s and feels his heart skip a beat.

Gene’s already looking when he turns to him, and he stands when it’s clear Babe’s got nothing else to say. “This place is ours if we want it.” He explains quietly, looks down to pull at his own fingers. “I know it’s tiny and kinda weird, but.” He shrugs. “We’ll smell like cake all the time…and it’s a little further from campus…” He hashes out as Babe watches him quietly, looks back at his toothbrush as Gene gives another helpless shrug.

“Ya sure, Gene? I know this is a lot for you, for us.” He reasons. “I’m sorry about what happened. I’m sorry for not sayin' sorry sooner.”

“No.” Gene looks up, eyes firm. “You have nothin' to be sorry for, that was on me. You got that?” Babe finds himself nodding at the vehemence of his words, swallows hard when Gene steps closer, reaches up a hand to curl around the back of his neck.

“I don’t deserve you, Edward Heffron.”

“Gene—”

“No, it’s true.” Gene cuts him off, gives him a little shake. “But if I’m what you want then so be it.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you, too.” Gene swallows. “More than I think it’s possible sometimes.”

Babe feels tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, can’t help the tiny bubble of hysterical laughter that claws its way up his throat. “Gene, c’mon, what is all this, huh? What’s going on?”

Gene looks away briefly, swallows so hard it looks like it hurt. Really considers his words. “Renee’s gone, Babe. She’s dead.”

Babe tips lightly towards the sink, feels blindsided, feels thankful for the steadying hand curled around his neck, fingers scratching gently at the fine hairs there.

“What.” Babe blinks. “ _What?_ ” He repeats dumbly.

Gene grimaces, keeps him upright. “She was comin' in for her night shift, crossin' the street when someone blew through the intersection tryin' to get to the ER. Hit her and two other people…the nurse is gonna make it.”

Babe doesn’t ask about the other person, sees it on Gene’s face and in his tight parody of a reassuring smile.

“Gene, _fuck_.” Babe surges forward, hauls the other man into his chest, fists the back of his hoodie. “Why didn’t you say anything, when did this happen? _Jesus Christ_.” He thinks of Renee’s smiling face, of her warm laughter and how she’d steal Gene’s phone just to call him to shoot the shit.

Gene’s breath shudders into his neck, voice thick as his fingers curl into Babe’s tee. “Right after we got there. I was workin' the ER that night and she was comin' in to replace me.” He mumbles flatly, detached.

Babe realizes with horror where this is heading.

“They brought her in.” Gene seems to reads his mind. “They wouldn’t let me work on her because we were friends, because I was emotionally compromised, but I convinced 'em to let me stay, to help with the others.”

Babe rubs roughly at Gene’s back, tries to get some friction going to fight off the chill coming from his body, that’s settled into his bones.

“They got her stabilized, but it didn’t matter.” Gene recounts quietly. “She was too busted up inside, too much internal bleeding with a break in her spine and pelvis. She was all cut up and bleedin'.”

“Gene, stop it, okay?” Babe babbles, rubs even harder at his back. “You don’t have to tell me. I don’t want to know.”

He feels Gene shake his head, feels the heaving breath he pulls in. “I just…they let me see her, had her curtained off still in the ER, had her hooked up to everythin'. She was semi-conscious, but she looked at me, Babe, and she knew she was goner, she didn’t need me to tell her. So I sat with her, held her hand, and she asked me to call her mom.” Gene’s voice finally breaks. “Her _mom_ , Babe, still back in France for Christ’s sake.”

“I know, Gene, it’s…it’s not alright, but it’s enough for now, yeah?”

Gene rears back, almost viciously, clamps his hands on either of Babe’s face. Babe stares back, not sure what to expect as Gene stares at him fiercely.

“I had to call her girlfriend. Two hours away, I had to call her and tell her what happened, tell her that Renee wasn’t comin' home this time.” Gene swallows hard, breathes harshly. “I had to tell her where Renee was hidin' the ring she was gonna propose with, had to tell her it was all she’s been talkin' bout these past few weeks and the only thing I could think about durin' that phone call was you, Babe. _Only you_.”

“Gene…” Babe reaches up, covers Gene’s hand with his own, feels his tears sliding past their fingers.

“I wasn’t sure at first, ya know? About us. You’re my first, Edward Heffron, for everythin', and that scares the complete hell outta me.” Gene licks his lips, gives Babe’s face a little squeeze. “If my _Grand-Mère_ were here she’d have her switch out, givin me a whack on the ass for being so damn foolish in the first place. For ignorin' what the good lord put right in front of me.”  

Babe huffs out a watery laugh, pulls Gene’s hands from his face to hold against his chest, right over his pounding heart.

“She should start a club with my ma or somethin'.” Babe tries to smile, knows it’s watery and snot crusted.

Gene doesn’t smile back, but his expression softens some, his face less severe as he looks at his hands against Babe’s chest. “I want ya to meet her someday.” Gene says softly. “I wanna take you home to meet everybody.”

Babe sniffles, wipes at his face before reaching out to thumb at one of the lavender smudges beneath Gene’s own tear bright eyes. “Well.” He says, glances over towards the sink, feels his heart cartwheel in his chest, hopes Gene feels it too. “Why don’t we start with makin' this place a home first, yeah? See how that goes?”

Gene quirks his lips as he slumps forward, presses his forehead tight against Babe’s chest. Sighs right from his very tired bones. Babe nuzzles into the thick inky black strands of hair that tickle his chin, plants a kiss there as an absolution. 

“We’re gonna be alright, Gene. We got this.” Babe murmurs quietly, glances once more at their pair of toothbrushes, feels everything finally click into place.

“I know we are.” Gene promises quietly. “ _Avec tout mon coeur_."

**Author's Note:**

> translation: "with all my heart" 
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
